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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096464">embers across a rayless sky</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/abscission/pseuds/abscission'>abscission</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the sky is blue and I love you [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s05e02 Blood Duel, Gen, Killbot Phantasm I, Past Abuse, Pre-Relationship, Zarkon's A+ Parenting, ft., if you want to read it that way - Freeform, mentions of - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:41:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/abscission/pseuds/abscission</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The hostage exchange does not go as planned.</p><p>for whumptober 2019 prompt day 16/27: pinned down + ransom; again, played fast and loose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lance &amp; Lotor (Voltron), Lance &amp; Voltron Paladins, Lance/Lotor (Voltron), Lotor &amp; Pidge | Katie Holt, Lotor &amp; Zarkon (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the sky is blue and I love you [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1509101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>embers across a rayless sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There were baffling inconsistencies in the fight scene in Blood Duel, so I did a re-do. If I can write a Zarkon-impalation, I'll write a Zarkon-impalation.</p><p>sidenote: Lotor would look good as a dragoon, wouldn't he?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">There‘s something off with the hostage exchange.</p><p class="p1">Lance runs the same scan three times before he catches it — ‘Samuel Holt’ doesn’t have a heat signature, and Lotor is already halfway across the field.</p><p class="p1">“It’s a trap!” Lance switches all system to ON and dives, ignoring how Red’s now a beacon in the sky. He’s not happy that his bout of uncharacteristic paranoia paid off, further unsettled that Shiro had been right. “Pidge, Shiro, retreat! Hunk, Allura, cover me!”</p><p class="p1">Atmospheric entry momentarily blinds his instruments, but suddenly Pidge is screaming in his ear and so he doesn’t need any updates to know Sam’s hologram must’ve flickered out. When he breaks through the cloud cover, he sees that Shiro’s plan is already in motion.</p><p class="p1">To say Lance was surprised when Shiro approached him privately would be putting it mildly. Lance had practically snapped to attention when he saw it was Shiro at his door — but Shiro just waved down his sputtering. Once the door closed he sagged against it, and all of Lance’s nerves was replaced with concern.</p><p class="p1">Dragging up a chair and reaching for a new bottle of water, Lance chivvied Shiro to the table. Shiro accepted his offering but just sat there, head in his hands, for a long while.</p><p class="p1">Concern turned to worry, and Lance finally asked, “Are you, er, holding up alright?”</p><p class="p1">Shiro snorted into his elbow, then winced and took a drink of water.</p><p class="p1">“I was thinking,” he said, after he put down the bottle, “that we use Lotor to take down Zarkon at the hostage exchange.”</p><p class="p1">It was such a complete non sequitur that for a moment Lance just stared, wondering if he’d somehow missed a sentence. But no, Shiro was already forging ahead.</p><p class="p1">“It’s not right, this thing we’ve agreed to. Pidge is letting her anger guide her and we can’t afford that, but I can’t refuse her. I can’t.”</p><p class="p1">“When you said ‘take down’...”</p><p class="p1">“I mean kill, Lance, yes.” Shiro massaged his temples, eyes scrunched shut. Lance was glad he kept the lights in his room dimmed. “I am going to give Lotor my bayard for the hostage exchange. When we have secured Samuel Holt, he will use the bayard to break out of the restraints and fight Zarkon.”</p><p class="p1">“Now hold on—”</p><p class="p1">“After he kills Zarkon, we will support his claim to the throne as allies. We will end the galactic conflict here.”</p><p class="p1">What was Lance supposed to say to that? He had been staunchly against the hostage exchange but the vindication that came from Shiro agreeing with sat wrong in his chest.</p><p class="p1">Ending Zarkon’s reign had always been the end goal. If Lance dug deep, he’d admit that he didn’t want to face the eventuality of killing, even if the victim is a ten-thousand-year-old tyrant. …Calling Zarkon a victim didn’t sit right, even in hypotheticals.</p><p class="p1">But here, faced with Shiro’s exhaustion, what could he say?</p><p class="p1">“Allura always said teamwork is important, that we should trust one another.” Shiro’s gaze was fixed in the middle distance. “I didn’t come here looking for support. I’m doing it.” Finally, he looked at Lance.</p><p class="p1">“I just thought,” and then he was looking past Lance, through him somehow, seeing someone different in his place. “With you being the Red Paladin… The right hand of Voltron should know what the head is planning.”</p><p class="p1">Lance felt his mouth turn downwards and fought it, but the bitterness of once again being compared to Keith was galling. And where is Keith now? Off running with his precious Blades, as though his friends the castleship didn’t matter, as though chasing after a bunch of aliens he’d met for less than a week would be any better of a family to someone who’s only response to emotional sincerity was running away.</p><p class="p1"><em>“He’s not here</em>,” Pidge screams, one breath short of sobbing. She throws herself at Zarkon’s ship, and the door rolls up only to spit out droid fighters. Door up, they can see now that the substantially larger Galra ship is carrying nothing <em>but </em>combat droids. Shiro lunges forwards and pulls Pidge behind his shield. She collapses into Matt’s arms. “<em>He was never here!”</em></p><p class="p1">Lance veers Red towards them.</p><p class="p1">“Cover Lotor!” Shiro says, and Lance is surprised to find him on the private channel. “We have this handled.”</p><p class="p1">“Roger that,” he says.</p><p class="p1">Turning, Lance is intercepted by several opportunistic Galra fighter jets. When they’re taken care of, he hovers in the air a second, scanning. Lotor had drawn Zarkon away from the ship.</p><p class="p1">And then there was no need for scans at all. A shockwave buffets Red’s position, and suddenly there seems to be a star on the ground, fighting a shadow.</p><p class="p1">Red doesn’t need prompting. Her systems lock on to the figure bleeding quintessence energy and she spits a bolt of fire as she leaps towards them.</p><p class="p1">Here’s a trick he’s learned about Red: she’s the fastest Lion because she accelerates the fastest. The slightest tilt on her controls and she goes rocketing off.</p><p class="p1">Here’s another trick he’s learned in physics class: you maneuver better with a pivot point.</p><p class="p1">Lance is braced for the jolting in the cockpit as Red’s limbs impact the ground and a new region of connection in his brain lights up. The tips of his fingers and toes tingle — he sinks her claws into the earth and push off again, adding another burst of speed.</p><p class="p1">Zarkon bats Lotor aside like an annoying fly. Lance wishes he had Blue’s sonar to disrupt Zarkon’s suit, but Red growls, miffed, and he decides spitting lava at Zarkon’s feet is just as good a distraction.</p><p class="p1">—<em>well</em>. He’s offended. Zarkon’s boots don’t even <em>steam</em>.</p><p class="p1">Even with a mechanical Lion as tall as a building barreling towards him, all Zarkon does is turn calmly and <em>aw shit.</em></p><p class="p1">Red’s jaws snap around Zarkon, plucking him off the ground and Lance aims into the sky as he charges another cannon. In a corner of his viewing screen, Lotor is sitting up, watching them with wide eyes.</p><p class="p1">But Zarkon jams the black bayard between Red’s teeth, turns it into something like a carjack, cracks apart her jaws — but it must’ve been a gun of some sort too — and fires into the cannon-barrel. Red’s attack fizzes out like a wet candle.</p><p class="p1">“Shit!” Lance regrets cursing out loud immediately. He’s still on the main comm line.</p><p class="p1">“Hold on, Lance, we’re coming!” Hunk says, and then <em>Coran</em> of all people comes on the line, “Lance! Watch out! Keith fought Zarkon and lost! He’s an old generation of Paladin, you have to—“</p><p class="p1">Lance jabs the comms button angrily. So <em>what</em> if Keith fought him and lost, what’s that supposed to mean about <em>Lance’s</em> skills? Oh, so if Keith lost, he’s automatically going to loose too?</p><p class="p1">(He <em>knows</em> this isn’t about him. He <em>knows</em> it’s Zarkon, it’s not him, but by <em>God</em> he’s sick of people comparing the two of them. Why can’t they just accept that Red picked him, that Blue was in on it, that <em>Voltron itself</em> was trying to say <em>Lance meant something</em>?)</p><p class="p1">Of course that’s when Zarkon fires again.</p><p class="p1">Red does a whole-body spasm. The strip of lights in the cockpit floor flickers like a bad TV. Damn, did he damage the hatch?</p><p class="p1">There’s a new input jack on the dashboard, blinking urgently. Lance hits it without thinking; Zarkon’s demented contraption is annoyingly clingy — Red can’t shake him.</p><p class="p1">Again, a hit directly to the cannon-barrel. This time, the cockpit lights go crazy. The viewing screen tilts downwards.</p><p class="p1">“Red?” Lance says, half a question, half a warning, and then Altean letters flashes across the screen, his chair tilts back, <em>the ceiling opens up</em>, and he’s thrown out of the cockpit.</p><p class="p1">His cry of surprise as he hits the ground (and instinctively does a tuck-and-roll) is drowned out by the colossal din Red makes as her front legs fold and she goes skidding past him. Zarkon is still clinging to her jaws — but what’s that in her mouth? — Lance leaps to his feet, adrenaline pumping, as Red’s mouth fills with lava, hot clumps of it dripping out from the cheek hollows, eating into the ground and pooling where she fell, and Zarkon recoils.</p><p class="p1">Lance looks around, realizing at once that he’s going to have to face Zarkon in hand-to-hand, and that they haven’t actually gotten too far from the initial point of impact. Red had taken maybe two strides in all the time it took for Zarkon to disable her pilot, and the slug of lava she had spat what seemed like milliseconds ago is within throwing distance of where Lance landed.</p><p class="p1">Across the distorted air above the lava, he meets Lotor’s eyes.</p><p class="p1">Then, through the haze, he sees Zarkon land over Lotor. Quintessence-light lines his suit, making the surface gleam like a scarab’s carapace. The mouthpiece is a jagged mess of quintessence-lines, their shape conveying nothing more than the leashed chaos of its wearer. Light like stars shine out from his eyes. A limb that’s more claw than hand drags Lotor up by his hair and the other presses the black bayard, now a sleek and gleaming gun, to Lotor’s temple.</p><p class="p1">Somewhere behind Lance, a Galra shuttle touches down. Its back has been jammed open, and before it even lands Matt takes a running leap off, rushing forwards, and Lance puts out a hand to stop him.</p><p class="p1">Lance hasn’t even realized he called up his bayard, but the blaster is a welcome and familiar weight in his right hand.</p><p class="p1">He knows the footsteps drawing up behind him are Shiro and Pidge.</p><p class="p1">Lotor closes his eyes.</p><p class="p1">Zarkon's voice is metallic and indifferent.</p><p class="p1">“Give me the Lions, and he will live.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">It is an absolutely <em>disgusting</em> move. Pidge has never hated anyone more than she hates Zarkon in this moment.</p><p class="p1">It wasn’t enough that he made her choose between two lives; it wasn’t enough that he made her almost complicit to the most inhumane decision she’s made — no, the most shameful decision of her life has to be an ultimately useless decision, her father wasn’t even planetside, she <em>still doesn’t know where he is</em>, and on top of all that now he’s threatening her- them- with—</p><p class="p1">How <em>dare</em> he use their moral superiority against them.</p><p class="p1">How <em>dare</em> he make them choose.</p><p class="p1">Truth was, Pidge regretted her outburst the second it was over. But the words were out there, the other Paladins were following through, and it’s her father, it’s <em>Dad</em>, she can’t just- she can’t just <em>leave</em> him—</p><p class="p1">Pidge’s grip on her bayard is tense enough to bruise and she feels hot tears prick at her eyes, but she doesn’t move.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Shiro knows he made a mistake.</p><p class="p1">It's all been a mistake.</p><p class="p1">He never should’ve volunteered for pilot— he never should’ve dreamed— he should’ve just stayed on the ground and died.</p><p class="p1">“Bring me your Lions, and Prince Lotor will live another day.”</p><p class="p1">Zarkon’s voice betrays no emotion. Shiro’s not even sure the emperor can feel emotion anymore, all shot up with quintessence as he is.</p><p class="p1">He thinks he should call Zarkon’s bluff. Lotor is the only card in any of their pockets — oh, how Shiro despises what this war has made him into — and neither party can play it if he’s dead, and so, logically, Zarkon will not pull the trigger.</p><p class="p1">He thinks he never should’ve told Lance to cover Lotor. But what might’ve happened then? Would Lotor have won? Would Lotor have been killed? Would Lotor have been disarmed and dragged to them in this exact same scenario?</p><p class="p1">He thinks, he thinks.</p><p class="p1">What is he doing here?</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Lotor doesn’t want to be witness to whatever comes next.</p><p class="p1">He was foolish to ever think he could mold his own destiny.</p><p class="p1">He isn’t angry at his father, truly. This situation is the outcome of his decisions and his inadequacy. He has no one to blame but himself.</p><p class="p1">(He can’t shape his destiny, but he sure can shape his failures.)</p><p class="p1">They’re talking, and he doesn’t want to listen.</p><p class="p1">Here at the end of the road, he just wants silence.</p><p class="p1">“—What? That’s it?”</p><p class="p1">The Red Paladin’s voice caught his attention.</p><p class="p1">The Red Paladin has always caught his attention. He was loud and he spoke with his hands and when Lotor looked at him he didn’t break the contact. Lotor was given the impression that he could hold a whole conversation like that, and he didn’t have that even with the Black Paladin, the only other who could meet and hold his gaze; every other paladin looked away.</p><p class="p1">(Lotor doesn’t think he liked the Black Paladin. ‘Think’, because there is a distinction between likable, which the Black Paladin was, and being liked, which the Black Paladin wasn’t. To Lotor, that is. Lotor doesn’t like what he saw in the eyes of the leader of Voltron. Something … processed … lived there.)</p><p class="p1">“What would you have me do, Lance?” The Black Paladin says, sounding weary and defeated.</p><p class="p1">“Aren’t you even going to try?”</p><p class="p1">“How, Lance?”</p><p class="p1">The green one. She sounds just as tired. Lotor doesn’t blame her for her decision the same way he doesn’t blame his father. Needs must.</p><p class="p1">“How—” Lance repeats, incredulous. (It’s good to put names to faces. It makes them real people — and of course, for Zarkon, knowing names only made them better pawns. <em>I know you</em>, it said, <em>and you still mean nothing</em> <em>to me</em>.) “I don’t know, you’re the strategist. You’re telling me we aren’t even going to <em>try</em>? We aren’t even going to <em>pretend</em> we want to save Lotor?”</p><p class="p1">He jerks, then hates himself for responding.</p><p class="p1">If Zarkon had been even little bit more alive, he would have laughed at that. Several thousand years ago he would have. As he is now, his merely stands there, inert as a statue.</p><p class="p1">He doesn’t want to look, Lotor tells himself. He <em>doesn’t</em>.</p><p class="p1">“Is this what we are reduced to? Trading lives?”</p><p class="p1">Lance sounds disappointed.</p><p class="p1">At the <em>Paladins.</em></p><p class="p1">Lotor opens his eyes.</p><p class="p1">The Red Paladin’s bayard has been stored away. His hands hang at his sides, curled slightly, as though in exasperation. To the ground, he says softly, “This is bullshit.”</p><p class="p1">Then, to Lotor’s surprise — and it truly is surprise, now, a true emotion — the Paladin lifts his head to look at Zarkon. Through the settling haze of the Red Lion’s lava attack and from the lack of a helmet at the emergency ejection, the Paladin’s eyes glint like cut gems. They don’t glance to Lotor anymore, and Lotor finds himself disappointed.</p><p class="p1">“Fine,” says the Paladin, “you win. You get to kill your darling son. So do it. We don’t care, apparently. Since none of us—” he glances between his companions, none of whom meets his gaze, “—would bother saving him.”</p><p class="p1">Zarkon’s suit creaks.</p><p class="p1">“You don’t get the lions, of course. If we upstanding moral citizens of the world who wouldn’t have traded lives <em>before</em> are trading them <em>now, </em>nothing short of universal heat death is going to make us hand over those kitties.” The Paladin stops. Seems to consider something. “But killing Lotor doesn’t change anything, you zombie fuckface. You kill him, you’re still stuck on this godforsaken rock with us.”</p><p class="p1">There is no malice in his tone. It is said idly, presented as offhandedly as throwing scraps to a pet.</p><p class="p1">Lotor knows what his father is going to do the moment claw-hands tightened in his hair. He doesn’t bother guarding against the hard stone that meets his shoulders nor does he reach to cradle his head, now stinging with pain from the force of the throw. Every action in his life had been a performance — who was there to perform for now?</p><p class="p1">Surely not the paladins. His show has never really fooled them, has it.</p><p class="p1">So he lies there in the dirt as Zarkon wields the bayard that a paladin had entrusted Lotor with into battle and lets the pain wash over him. The dust motes kicked up by the fight swirl over his shoulder. He doesn’t try to get up. He doesn’t try to do anything.</p><p class="p1">That is, until something armored and alive slams into him, rolling them both over and shoving him back. An expanding field of cool Altean blue descends over them both, and Lance seems to bring with him sound, color, and pain.</p><p class="p1">Lotor’s shoulders and neck are blazing with it.</p><p class="">Absurd. Of all the places to lead the fight, why did Lance come here?</p><p class="p1">Lance is crouched in the dirt beside him, the energy shield emanating from his bracer solidifying into a series of hexagons. In quick motions, he strips off the bracer and hands it to Lotor. Bemused, Lotor accepts it, and their fingers brush.</p><p class="p1">Lance doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p class="p1">“I need you to keep that active. Nothing much, just hold on to it.”</p><p class="p1">Without waiting to see if Lotor might be inclined to stab him in the back – or say, crush the bracer, or throw it away — Lance turns back and drops an armful of glowing bayard to the ground.</p><p class="p1">It takes several tics to settle, and that’s already strange. The black bayard hadn’t even been his but it had responded to Lotor’s thoughts within moments.</p><p class="p1">What is the Paladin asking of his weapon?</p><p class="p1">The glow fades, and with a sharp exhale he snaps to work.</p><p class="p1">There is a stand, which he sets, and two metallic rails, which he props up and they snap into alignment on their own. Then Lance says, “I have five shots,” as the miniaturized railguns takes shape, its frame humming with current.</p><p class="p1">Lance’s eyes are bright, shining, and that they’re directed at Lotor. His chest feels tight.</p><p class="p1">The ground beneath their feet shifts, and Lotor finally looks away from Lance, out of the bubble. Zarkon is shaking off the rebel fighter and Shiro’s combined attack, turning this way, and when the Green Paladin swings out a lasso to trip him, Zarkon entirely ignores it, his suit ripping apart the glowing rope even as it closes around his ankles.</p><p class="p1">The hulking giant of metal and quintessence comes charging right for them, and Lotor can find none of his earlier bravado. He shrinks away like he’s a hundred all over again, cringing at a raised hand. He withdraws behind the Blue Paladin, clutching the bracer like a talisman.</p><p class="p1">He catches a glimpse of Lance’s face, and the disgust and revulsion on it cuts straight to his core.</p><p class="p1">This is it, then. This is when he drops the barrier and lets Zarkon carry out what only pity had stayed his hand for—</p><p class="p1">But there was only the faint <em>zzp</em> of shield particulate manipulation, and then a hexagon of shielding slides away for Lance to have an uninterrupted line of fire.</p><p class="p1">The first bolt of the railgun punches a sizzling dent in the left pectoral of Zarkon’s suit. He staggers back a step, entirely halted in his tracks. If his mask allowed for shock, it would be now.</p><p class="p1">Lotor feels courage floods through his veins like molten rock.</p><p class="p1">Sometime during the paladins’ round with Zarkon, he had lost the black bayard. But the Black Paladin isn’t wielding it, so where was it now?</p><p class="p1">Silently, Lance thrusts the black bayard into his hands. Blue eyes cut up to meet his. “Go.”</p><p class="p1">The same hand plucks the bracer away from him.</p><p class="p1">All of a sudden Lotor becomes aware of an incandescent rage making him shake— Zarkon is still recovering, still stationary, and Lotor launches himself out of the bubble of safety towards his childhood demon, saber in hands.</p><p class="p1">He and Lance work together like a well-oiled machine. He forces Zarkon on the defensive, locks him in a position, and anytime he manages that for more than a tic, Lance nails a weak point in the armor. More than once, the force from the railgun transfers down Lotor’s sword arm, and he has to disengage lest he lose his grip.</p><p class="p1">From the corner of his eyes he sees the Black and Green Paladins (and the resistance fighter tag-along) gathering around the blue shield.</p><p class="p1"><em>Good</em>, Lotor thinks, and tries to quash the voice that says <em>he</em> should be the one protecting the Red Paladin, to return the favor.</p><p class="p1">He slashes away the canisters of quintessence, and Zarkon’s resulting roar of fury overloads the voice modulators. The sound comes out warped and scratchy, something straight out of nightmares.</p><p class="p1">Lance seems to get the idea. Perhaps he hadn’t realized the back armor was the power source, and not just padding?</p><p class="p1">Lotor pivots on the spot, dodges a swinging fist, then feints backwards, remembering dancing lessons with Acxa. His footwork keeps him <em>just</em> out of range of Zarkon’s grasping claws, and as he leads Zarkon in a circle for a split second Zarkon’s back is turned to the Paladins— </p><p class="p1">The last railgun slug lands squarely between Zarkon’s shoulders, vaporizing the processor pack. It’s like a bomb going off: pressurized quintessence spurts everywhere, the energy exploding upwards in a pillar reaching for the skies.</p><p class="p1">Zarkon still moves.</p><p class="p1">Answering an unspoken desire, the black bayard morphs into a spear. Lotor takes a running leap and drives it as deep into the guts of the machinery as he can.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Ahead of her, Lance is supporting a limping Lotor into the Red Lion, who’s up and running again.</p><p class="p1">Shiro and Matt are hovering around the twisted lump of metal that’s Zarkon’s corpse, because older boys like them are still wrapped up in the Earth notions of ‘respect’ and whatnot — let him rot, Pidge thinks, why should we care?</p><p class="p1">Then she remembers her passioned outburst in the bowels of the castleship and thinks, <em>because it’s not our call to make</em>. Just like the hostage exchange wasn’t her call to make.</p><p class="p1">She should’ve known better, really. Of course Zarkon wouldn’t have just <em>handed over</em> her father, all polite-like.</p><p class="p1">During the splitting up for boarding, she took the Blue Lion, and stayed in the jaw the entire time. Pidge had Matt and Shiro take the Yellow Lion. She didn’t feel like talking.</p><p class="p1">Allura doesn’t bother her with conversation. The princess understands what it’s like to loose a parent, even if Allura’s never getting Alfor back, ever.</p><p class="p1">Back on the castleship, Pidge still doesn’t feel like talking. When the others crowd around Lotor, Lance snaps at all of them to stay back, even Shiro, and only lets Coran lead the way to the healing bay. Pidge heads straight for her room.</p><p class="p1">An unknown amount of time passes where she just stares at a wall. It’s blank, her mind’s blank, and she likes it that way.</p><p class="p1">Then someone knocks on her door.</p><p class="p1">It can only be Matt. The rest of them knew better than to bother her when she’s in a mood.</p><p class="p1">“What do you want?” she says, opening it, already tired and wary and guarded.</p><p class="p1">“Do you have any hair ties?” says Lance. “I’m looking for one.”</p><p class="p1">She does. She fetches it silently. She hands it over. Lance turns to go.</p><p class="p1">“Hang on—” she says, and can’t even summon surprise at herself for speaking. Lance looks back, one eyebrow raised. But now that she’s opened her mouth, she’s not sure how to proceed. “…You need anything else?”</p><p class="p1">Lance’s shoulders loosen. “I need a big mug of coffee that doesn’t exist on this castle and I need a long nap in a fluffy bed that also doesn’t exist on this castle. We all make do.”</p><p class="p1">She understands. “Then let me come with you. Is he doing ok?”</p><p class="p1">Lance snorts a laugh and waits until she’s caught up to start walking. “Sore. He refused the healing pods and I’m not about to question that, but he needs to not touch his scalp, and I don’t think he realizes that means his hair.”</p><p class="p1">Pidge’s about to ask why, then remembers Zarkon’s claw-hand, buried in dirty white hair. She closes her mouth and lets Lance fill the silence.</p><p class="p1">“My sisters would get into scuffles <em>all</em> the time. Their hair would be grabbed or it’ll get caught and I don’t even know <em>how </em>but it’ll get pulled, and then Rachel will go crying to Mama and it’ll be a <em>whole</em> shebang.” He waves his arms in the air. “Anyone who so much as touch her hair will get bitten in the days afterwards.”</p><p class="p1">They round the bend, walk past the healing bay, and stop in front of a door. Lance glances at her. Pidge takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and nods to Lance.</p><p class="p1">They enter.</p><p class="p1">Lotor is seated on the floor, examining Lance’s NES controller. <em>Killbot Phantasm I </em>is paused on a monster encounter. It’s such a startling scene: sitting down, Lotor is only as tall as Pidge’s forehead, which not only makes him eye level but also greatly diminishes his air of villainy, and she can’t decide if this is better than craning her neck to apologize or not. Pidge recalibrates.</p><p class="p1">“You moved your console?” she asks Lance.</p><p class="p1">Lotor looks up. His expression shutters as soon as his eyes land on Pidge, but she doesn’t miss the peculiar way he looks at Lance.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, since all the wires were taking up too much space,” Lance replies, picking his way across the mine of emulators and wire to sit down next to Lotor. He hands over the hair tie then picks up the main controller.</p><p class="p1">Pidge also doesn’t miss the way Lotor’s eyes follow Lance’s every move.</p><p class="p1">“Not— tie it low. The goal is to gather it in one place so it gets caught on less things and doesn’t pull,” Lance taps Lotor’s elbow gently, then un-pauses his game.</p><p class="p1">The volume is on low, so when Pidge takes a few steps forward and clears her throat, she doesn’t have to strain to be heard or anything.</p><p class="p1">Lotor’s gaze sharpens to knife-points.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah yeah, you don’t like me, I get it.” She raises her hands in supplication. “But I’m just here to apologize. I—” Where to begin?</p><p class="p1">Truth is, if she could swap out Lotor for her father and not be cheated during the transaction, she’d still do it. Without missing a beat. But… the world isn’t so simple.</p><p class="p1">“I wanted to say, our decision was unwise, it was made in haste, and it hurt you. It hurt—” her eyes flicks to Lance, who is staring resolutely at the game screen, directing his characters to punch a rabbit-looking monster. “Lance was right, the decision betrayed all that Voltron stood for. My dad would be disappointed in me, too, and he’d be right to feel that way. Agreeing to a trade with Zarkon was … the wrong decision.” She looks Lotor dead in the eye. They are really pretty, she decides. Lance deserves someone pretty. “You are worth more than a bargaining chip. You are worth as a person, and Voltron doesn’t trade lives.” She takes a breath. “I’m sorry.”</p><p class="p1">Lance smiles a tiny smile to the screen. Lotor looks confused, but cautiously, like he's got a good idea of what's going on but isn't sure he can trust her words.</p><p class="p1">She’s said her piece.</p><p class="p1">On the way out she says, “The moeruls are immune to normal attacks.” and leaves Lance to curse at the screen and her, and Lotor to look wonderingly at the Red Paladin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>how did this take me four months. fuck?? the next time I'm struck with inspiration, i should just drop everything and write it ALL down.</p><p>also yeah the generals aren't in this. the girls are smart. the girls fucked off. they don't want anything to do with zarkon.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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